Silver Chains
by Milarca
Summary: Dark!Kirk finds an interesting way to punish Slave!Spock. Abuse. One-shot.


**A/N:** For those of you waiting for updates to Wonderland, please bear with me. This was a safe way I could express some things in my life right now. I'm not going to hide the fact that it's a tad dark (please note I don't have anything against Kirk, he just *ahem* came out this way), and some weirdness came from the fact that being inside Spock's head really is something, despite how much I love the green-blooded hobgoblin.

**Summary:** AU: dark!Kirk finds an interesting way to punish slave!Spock. Abuse, character building. Rated M.

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><p><strong>Silver Chains<strong>

Part I

Spock's feet are cold and numb, one of the effects metal has when one is forced to kneel on it. He is not even allowed to balance on his toes for warmth; Kirk choose this room for a reason and of course he makes the most of it. It is one of the coldest rooms in the house. Once used for interrogating prisoner when the Kirk family kept such operations on the grounds. Now it's been refurbished for a new purpose. Spock does not know if he is the only one since then to suffer in this room, or if there have been, or are, others. He does not think too much on it.

He keeps his breathing silent and his mind aware and sharp; in part to distract himself from the chill sweeping his body that makes it harder to concentrate on anything. If he was grateful for one thing, however, it would be that the ion cuffs encircling his wrists behind his back are not too tight. He has scars from when he was not afforded that luxury.

"_Hmmm_." The human makes a noise.

Spock knows he is supposed to be unsettled and even worried when he hears it, but he no longer has such sentiments. He has prepared himself well for the worst; to compromise that control by allowing doubt into his mind would be counterproductive. He is not afraid, nor does he analyze the staged sound. That was all it was; a sound.

Kirk's eyes sweep over him. Spock knows this despite his eyes, downcast on the floor. Kirk would be narrowing his eyes and showing 'disappointment.' Kirk usually did this when Spock was careless, almost always the product of unknown knowledge in regards to the control Kirk had over his household. Kirk did not realize, nor care to examine why, Spock was not affected by his disappointment. Yet still Kirk showed it. It was a most illogical action. Perhaps not when dealing with other humans, but utterly pointless when used against Spock. Spock did not react to it.

Kirk stirs.

"You should have told me of this before it got out of hand, before he could tell me, Spock. I know you have gone to him several times."

Spock is silent. The guard was the most influential variable he could affect, yet he could not have known with his limited resources this particular human would refuse his carefully worded offer in favour of the reward Kirk would, and probably had, granted him. It was impossible to examine an individual he had no access to. He had not been dismayed however; he had made an easily fixable error. Though dealing with humans did not have the precision mathematical formulas offered because of their erratic nature, they could be measured, even understood if given enough space in the formula to _be_ erratic. An individual's personal limits within a situation could be measured after careful observation. That had simply been one thing denied him in this case.

"In the past you have favoured the opinion of free men; I saw this as no different."

Kirk growled, the response not what he was looking for. He grabbed Spock's jaw and Spock firmly shut his eyes.

A mad rush of anger and fury poured into his mind from Kirk's fingers, their glistening shine running in and around his carefully organized thought patterns. He did not allow them to puncture his mental barriers but he could not help but feel them, the sense of hate a shock to his system.

_Disobedience. Worthlessness. Liar. Listen!_

These were fragments of words he only heard because of how loud Kirk was shouting them in his mind. If he opened his eyes Kirk would be glaring at him, all of _that_ burning in his eyes. Spock was strong, but the combined avalanche of hateful feelings and emotions all directed at him…

He started to quiver despite his attempts at control.

"Yes, I know you feel that," Kirk hissed in his ear, unremorseful to the core and willing to show it. He twisted Spock's jaw harshly to the side, climbing his greasy hand up until his palm lay flat against Spock's cheek.

Moments later, pain exploded on Spock's cheek as the slap physically rocked him. Spock immediately blocks all sensation, an automatic defense mechanism to deal with the overflow of sensory stimulation.

There is a completely silent moment, where there is a ringing in his ears, and then it all comes back in a rush. He is _cold_ and it _hurts_ and—he grinds his teeth together. His chest heaves as he takes heavy, calming breaths. He twists in the restraints binding his hands behind his back, his feet shifting in rage. He does not move, the humiliation of the slap paralyzing. He can feel the sting on his right cheek as heat floods his face and torso.

"You're lying. Vulcan's _don't_ lie."

Heat that is not from the slap boils inside Spock, something close to fury mounting inside him at the degradation of being told what his race did or did not do. His solace comes in knowing Kirk only insults him to mask his own shortcomings and obvious rules he cannot enforce. Spock is stronger than that; he stretched the limits and was willing to face the consequences. Kirk cannot get past his incredulity that Spock would do so at all.

"You won't lie to me again, will you, Spock?" Kirk is half crazed now, his voice on the very real verge of sounding almost affectionate.

Spock flinches internally, the sound putting a sour taste at the back of his mouth. He swallows, opens his mouth. Kirk kneels down, his boots making the bits of loose stone crunch. He keeps his eyes on Spock's face as he buries a hand in Spock's onyx hair.

Spock straightens against the intrusion but utters in a monotone: "I will not lie again, Master."

There is a moment, in which Spock is sure Kirk is savouring his discomfort, before Kirk grunts.

Kirk pulls at Spock's hair, his attention distracted. Spock is silent. There is a quiet rumbling in Kirk's throat: more disapproval.

"Stay here."

Spock bristles; keeping himself as Kirk releases him harshly, willing him loose his balance. He doesn't.

The door slams shut.

Spock waits a moment before attempting to rid himself the feel of Kirk's hand _in his hair, on his body,_ his words_ in his mind_.

Every_thing_. Every _day_. Every minute is an attempt to cleanse himself of unwanted feelings, _sensations_, words, cruel thoughts. _Contamination_. At least he has a purpose. Stay alive for the one goal of cleansing himself, being free once more. He will escape, alive or not; he will not always have to go through the methodical grooming process that keeps him sane.

Kirk is not loud as he enters, but Spock's eyes never left the door. His eyes flit to the instrument in Kirk's hand. It is slim, silver, and mechanical. A barber's razor. He pales as Kirk kneels down again, putting it directly in Spock's dark hair.

Just as Kirk is about to push the switch, Spock jerks back and scrambles to his feet. He sees the disbelief in Kirk's eyes turn in a blast of humanity to scorching fury. But Spock can't go back, he can't _move_—Kirk stands and grabs his neck, pulling him back to the ground. Spock stumbles and lands on his knees. His hands clench automatically as he attempts to hold them out for balance. He sways and Kirk drives down on his jaw with his thumb, his nail cutting into the soft flesh and crushing Spock's windpipe. Spock stills even though he knows he could rip from Kirk's grasp; the consequences later would be greater than momentary freedom.

Spock forcibly silences himself as the indignity of what Kirk is doing settles in him.

"Do. Not. _Move_." Kirk orders harshly, jerking Spock's head as if it would make the message clearer. Spock doesn't resist. He reverts back to his normal state of mind; Kirk was not about to hurt him physically and so there is no need for action against him. He is resentful about the physical alteration, but he senses it as a general dislike of his lack of freedom.

Kirk took his hair once again, more forcefully this time.

"I'm disappointed in you, Spock."

Kirk was always disappointed in him. Spock stares blankly ahead. Kirk sighs.

"And now I won't be able to run my hands through this, fine, beautiful hair of yours. I'm going to miss that."

Spock perked up. He realized exactly what it would mean; Kirk _wouldn't_ be able to pull him by his hair or cart his dirty, greasy hands through it, until it grew back at least. He gained a grain of comfort from that, knowing one aspect Kirk used to use him would be taken away, by his own hand too. Spock found that odd. Odd for Kirk, but then again, he was usually surprised by humans. He shouldn't be surprised now. Kirk was doing this as a form of punishment but it was really only hurting himself. Strange.

Kirk started the instrument and it vibrated, hurting Spock's ears at a sonic level. He cringed.

As Kirk worked, pieces of black hair fell methodically to the floor.

To Spock, despite the rationale that mourning the loss of hair was illogical, he felt somehow freer. It was a sensation he rarely had and was struck by it now. Being so bound in everything he did, this loss made him feel oddly light. He did not care, and Kirk did. Usually Kirk tried his best to make Spock uncomfortable by one means or another; now he could practically feel the waves of anger rolling off Kirk. Yet, _he_ felt nothing. If anything, he felt like smiling. Illogical as it was.

The machine clicks off and Spock feels the cold air on his head, along with the urge to feel it. He wonders if there is a stubble.

Before he can even rise however, Kirk's hand slides over his shaven head. There is a bit of a stubble; Spock can tell from Kirk's hand.

Spock is surprised when Kirk grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him up, as if doubting Spock's ability to stand quick enough. Spock stands where Kirk leaves him, adopting his usual stance, back straight and the intelligence in his eyes that can pierce even the toughest to the core while not being intrusive about it.

He is none the worse for wear from the loss of weight or feel.

Kirk turns to him, a sly grin appearing on his face. He seems to find something hilariously funny; he laughs, his eyes dark with humour Spock will never understand nor want to.

"You'll get used to it," He smiles, though Spock sees it falters just a fraction as he takes in his blank face. "You've got those ears to offset any imperfection." He drops any semblance of laughter then, his face going prison-cell dark. A sneer rises on his lips and he snatches a metal key from the inside of his jacket. He swiftly unlocks Spock's handcuffs, slipping them into a pocket.

Spock drops his hands, unwilling to rub them, though he is sorely tempted, in Kirk's presence.

"You can go." Kirk said, deadpan.

Spock drops his eyes and nods.

"Thank you."

Kirk rolls his eyes, and Spock leaves without a word.

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><p><strong>AN:** I told you it was dark. As a note however, as I was editing this I realized it has parallels to my life right now. I feel very frustrated with some things and Spock's reaction to that is perhaps how I would like to feel, or am. It's self-preservation. If you don't understand it, you're lucky.

I don't bite; comments, thoughts, questions, and love are all appreciated~


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